


Otherwise

by LivingSilver



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Violence, Light Smut, Mentions of Violence, Slightly Possessive Geralt, Soft Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22111141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingSilver/pseuds/LivingSilver
Summary: He's left his own share of occasional bruises, but this is something else entirely.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 639





	Otherwise

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short little something that hit me out of nowhere.

"The same?" The brothel keeper asks when she spies Geralt entering her establishment.

The Witcher has been returning with some regularity every few months for the past two years or so. Always asks for you and if you're not available, he takes no one. Tells her to make sure you're available the next night.

"As always," Geralt answers inclining his head.

He doesn't like to think too much about how he'll look for any reason, take any job to return to the area as he follows you to a room.

Geralt doesn't necessarily care for whores. Lays with them because he possesses all the needs of men. Always treats them well enough, but doesn't like how they tend to make a show out of ooo-ing and ahhh-ing over him. Hands trailing his body with cheap comments. Overreacting to his touch. Rambling on about how _big_ he is, how _good_ he feels. Asking about his scars after when sometimes he just wants _quiet_.

But every now and then, he'll find one like you. The kind that let their bodies speak for them. You don't have to tell him how good he feels, he knows it from the catch of your breath, the curve of your spine, the flutter of your cunt when he enters you. _Genuine_.

They always tends to ruin him somewhat. Have him do things like go out of his way just to come back to a brothel in a nothing town. Usually stays for _days_ when he does.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed now.

"You can, request someone else if you like," you say, pulling reluctantly at the tie of your silken robe and Geralt's brow furrows briefly in confusion, only to catch your meaning when your robe hits the floor moments later.

Amber eyes filling with rage as he looks over your body. Maps of black, blue, and yellow spread across your shoulders, ribcage, hips. A handprint circling your upper arm. Wrists still healing pink from the rub of a rope.

He's left his own share of occasional bruises, but this is something else entirely.

"Who fucking did this?" Geralt questions low and deadly, drawing you to stand between the v of his legs.

"Someone just passing through," you answer, seemingly unbothered. It's been a few days now. You thought you'd seen it all. You were wrong. "He paid well to do it. She couldn't refuse him," you continue, referring to the brothel keeper. She had set rules of course--face and neck were off limits. No skin was allowed to be broken.

Otherwise.

Geralt fumes silently while palming your bruises. One hand splayed across your rib cage, the other spanning your hip. He'll ring whatever information he can out of the brothel keeper later; she'll be lucky if he doesn't ring her neck after.

"You don't have to live like this," he says looking up at you, brows knitting together, "Go somewhere else. Start a new life."

You give a bitter kind of laugh.

"It's not that easy, you know it's not."

"Besides, who would you come back to if I leave?" You ask somewhat teasingly, eager to change his mood, but his mouth remains a hard set line as he thumbs over the marks on your wrist.

He doesn't respond, just drops your wrist and goes to the door. Grabs one of the girls passing by. Orders a hot bath be brought in.

Skilled fingers easing the tension from your muscles. Holds you close to his chest while your body goes lax in the water. Head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. Face curving into the crook of his neck.

He gazes into the fire for a long time until your breath is soft and even. Lashes long against your cheek. Runs his thumb along the curve of your throat to wake you.

And he's so gentle the next morning. Slips his broad shoulders between your thighs, licks at you until you're sweet on his tongue. Pulls you into his lap after. Handles you like _glass_. Just kind of rocks into you until you shake apart so gently in his arms.

Questions the brothel keep on his way out. Growls threats at her about what will happen if he ever returns to find you in any kind of such state again.

Remorseless as he watches the life drain from his eyes later. Men are often the worst monsters.


End file.
